No Rest For The Wicked
by YukiAkanawa
Summary: Cook faces Foster in his basement. What he will find there may change him forever. Sam&Dean are investigating a case in Britain on Bobby's behalf. What will they find?
1. Prologue

No Rest For The Wicked

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Skins or Supernatural characters, they belong to Jamie Britain/Eric Kripke respectively.

Enjoy this crossover and please R&R!

PROLOGUE

„What 'ave you done?" Foster smiles. Chuckles even. Raising his eyes to look straight into Cooks.

"Don't be _stupid_ Cook. She told me all about _you _too. There was much to correct in that girl." He pauses.

"I almost managed it… Perhaps I still can," giving Cook an almost concerned, understanding smile.

"You?" Lowering his eyes, focusing on Foster. Anger slowly building up in him. His finger pointed accusingly at Freddie's blood stained shirt.

"You did sumfin' to my frie-"

"This is wasting time," Foster cuts him off calmly. A calm that only lets waves of hate erupt from Cooks brain. Waves that start to manifest in his fists. They're itching.

"Would you kneel down please." Again a smile.

Now Cook understands. Now everything makes perfect sense. Freddie's diary, the only piece left from his best friend, was burning hot in his back pocket.

"Mr. Foster…" he says disgusted, looking down and up again, mockingly.

"_Doctor Foster, _actually." Foster doesn't blink once during the entire conversation. Like swords or needles, his creepy, empty blue eyes pierce into Cooks flesh.

"Kneel down please," he repeats, now with a certain demand and authority in his voice. As Cook just shakes his head, a sharp pain fills Cooks stomach and throws him back. Foster, holding the baseball bat tight in his hand, steps closer, preparing for another blow. Gasping for air, Cook stands up again, uncontrollable laughter now escaping Cooks mouth. Ravaging, evil, demonic laughter. Shaking his head in mere disbelieve that somebody could be as _stupid _and hurt his best friend.

"I don't fink you know _what _I am mate…" Foster leans forward.

"I think I do. You're _nothing. _You don't deserve that girl, you know… But I do." Smiling devilishly, his blood almost boiling, adrenaline and anger flowing through Cook like narcotics. He thinks back to his time with Freddie. What they fought about. Laughed about. How their friendship was destroyed. How they build it up again. And now before him was this funny-looking pumpkin face. Pumpkin… a rotten pumpkin that deserved to be smashed, because one couldn't use it for Halloween anymore. And nodding Cook says:

"I'm a fucking waste of space... Just a stupid kid... I got no sense... A criminal? I'm no fucking use... I _**am**_ nothing...so please... **please**... get it into your... you know... into your bonce... That you killed my friend..." The anger is overpowering him, his calmness being nothing more than a fake ass facade.

"And..." he shrugs, making the fact look like something a 5-year-old would understand from the start.

" ... I'm Cook."

Foster tilts his head as though to belittle something cute.

" **I'M COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOK!**"


	2. Chapter 1: A Favour For Bobby

**DISCLAIMER**_: I do not own the Skins or Supernatural characters, they belong to Jamie Britain/Eric Kripke respectively. _

_Enjoy this crossover and please R&R!_

ii.

"I hate this! Last time you zapped me somewhere I couldn't-"

"Yes, visit the bathroom for a _whole_ week. I remember Dean," a husky voice said. It sounds like it doesn't really fit the body, like something is off. But this was just a vessel after all. Dean answered with a slight frown and mumbled something about "freaking angels" when he got a warning look from Sam.

"What?" he said and felt falsely accused. Sam rolled his eyes and said, "Thanks for the ride Cas."

Castiel was looking around, curiously, like he always did, seeing things normal humans couldn't. He _**was **_an angel after all.

"It was my pleasure." No intonation. No hidden innuendo. The two brothers already got used to that.

"So," Sam broke the silence. "Three persons went missing here in the past week. All of them were connected to patients at the Bristol Psychiatric Institution. Also, all of those patients were being treated by some doctor named John Foster. I take it this is his place? Hmm. Big house."

"Man, I can't believe Bobby would have us go all the way to Britain for this crap!" Dean crossed his arms over his chest. He was obviously cold.

"Well, seems like Bobby owes big to this guy that called him. Otherwise he wouldn't have sent us," Sam stated neutrally.

"Yeah, well, let's pay this Foster dude a visit shall we? Cas, are you gonn-" Dean turned around only to see that the spot where Castiel stood just seconds ago was empty.

"Freaking angels! How are we supposed to get back? I'm gonna freeze to death!" Dean said angrily.

"Stop whining, c'mon." said Sam, as he made his way to the massive entrance door. Dean, trying to ignore an urge to hit his brother, instead told himself he would punch Castiel if he wouldn't show up later and followed Sam to the stairs. They were dressed in trench coats and suits, just like proper Interpol agents should be.

Sam pressed the doorbell. His older brother was watching a moth dancing in the street lantern light, trying to get through to the light. Although it was only 9 PM the darkness already had made its conquest over the day in Bristol.

"Nothing's happening" Sam interrupted Dean's contemplation about whether the moth would die of exhaustion before burning to the death.

"Well, screw it, let's check it out anyway. Got your lockpick?" Dean asked, not making the slightest effort to cover a yawn.

"**AAAAAAAAAAAHHH!**"

The Winchesters eyes widened as they exchanged meaningful looks.

"Uhm… that didn't sound good" Sam said and they rushed off to the window leading to the basement, where the bloodthirsty roar was coming from.


	3. Chapter 2: Something Wicked

**DISCLAIMER**_: I do not own the Skins or Supernatural characters, they belong to Jamie Britain/Eric Kripke respectively. _

_Enjoy this crossover and please R&R!_

iii.

A storm of fury is released. Cook's uppercut hits Foster directly the face. He falls down, blood all over his face. The bat out of reach, Foster startles at Cook in sheer bewilderment, not believing what just happened.

"**AAAAAAAAHH!**"

Relentless. Unforgiving. Merciless. One after one Cooks fists made their way into Fosters face. His face splattered, covered in blood, Foster was still alive. Barely. Crack! The sound of breaking bones filled the whole room, as Cook shattered one of Fosters knee caps.

"That's for killing my best friend you fooking tosser!" Every part of him burned. He was enraged. Furious. He wanted to punish Foster, make him feel unbelievable pain. And so he did.

"Aaaaaah!" This time it was Foster letting out a faint scream as his second knee cap collapsed and crackled into a thousand pieces under the force of the baseball bat.

Hands bloody, panting, and gasping for air Cook stood over Foster. Spitting in his face he said:

"May you rot in hell you sick son of a filthy bitch!" A mute _clonk_ followed by a splashing noise. Blood, brains and bone-fragments splashed all over Cooks body and the room. Foster was dead. Starring at the bloody bat, lying there were Fosters head should be he muttered:

"_That's what you get for fookin killin my best friend you soulless –_"

"HEY!"

Cook turned around in an instant, eyes spread in shock.

"Interpol!" Dean shouted, "hands where I can see them! Right now!"

"Fook", Cook thought. Now Interpol was behind him? For a split second he actually felt special, being pursued by Interpol. Interpol? Really?

Sam and Dean were pointing their Colt 1911s directly at him.

" I **said,** hands where I can see goddammit!" Dean now aimed at Cooks head. Slowly, Cook raised his hands above his head.

"It is over now. Everything is over," he thought.

"Is that Foster?" Sam asked.

"What's left of him." Cook said as though Sam asked him.

"Why d'you do it?" Dean asked, still pointing the muzzle at Cooks head.

Cook, beginning to overcome his shock, remembered why he was here, remembered how it was Foster who killed his best friend and all he could get out was:

"He killed him."

"What are you talking about man?" Dean asked in his harsh, Dean-like voice. But Cook didn't respond. Falling to his knees, he buried his head in his bloody hands and tears started to fill his eyes. Sobbing he blurted out.

"_Freds… I'm so sorry Freds…_"

Sam and Dean exchanged looks and Sam circled around and made his way into the other basement rooms. Dean, slightly lowered his gun to take a better look at that the guy sobbing right in front of him. Cook looked like utter and complete shit, Dean though. All covered in blood and sobbing…

"Dean! I found a body! No wait… there are more over here." Dean didn't say anything, still closely watching Cook.

"Dean, I think it's the missing persons!"

"Hey, boy, what's your name?" Dean addressed the kneeling piece of misery. After a short pause it mumbled:

"Cook. I'm Cook."

"Ok. Cook, get up. Come with me."

"Dean, are you coming or not?"

Sam was standing next to the three corpses, when Cook, followed by Dean entered. Upon the sight of Freddie's pale dead body Cook rushed forward clutching him.

"_Freds!_" he winced. Cook actually winced!

"You recognize him?" Sam asked in a matter-of-fact tone, holstering his gun.

"_Freds… I'm so sorry mate…_" Sam pulled Dean aside and still watching Cook he whispered:

"Ok, seems like the case pretty much solved its on its own."

"Yeah, no kidding. Let's call Cas and get the hell out of here before the feds show up." Dean answered, throwing a concerned look out of the window they entered through.

"Dean, what are we gonna do about him tho?" Sam asked, nodding at Cook, who was staring into Freddie's dead face as though he could revive him that way.

"Looks like he was here for revenge. Can't really blame him… Maybe… I dunno. Hey Cook," said Dean raising his voice.

"Mr. Cook would you step with us outside please?"

Cook unable to feel anything executed Dean's command. Blunt. Robot-like. Anything just to be away from this place, a voice somewhere deep inside his sub-consciousness hushed.


	4. Chapter 3: Bad Day at Bristol

**DISCLAIMER**_: I do not own the Skins or Supernatural characters, they belong to Jamie Britain/Eric Kripke respectively. _

_Enjoy this crossover and please R&R!_

iv.

The air was cool and the wind was gushing. Cook just stood there. Staring somewhere. Off in the distance. Foster was dead. It was over.

"Castiel… please appear and manifest before us… and get us the hell out of here before Dean pouts us to death," Sam added sighing very deeply.

"Sam, I'm telling you it's freezing here! Tell him to get his skinny Angel ass over here already!"

Something moved. Like debris falling off a cliff. Something in Cook's mind startled. Shook him. It was like a distant scream growing louder. A voice screaming "Wake up!". For the first time he looked at the two Interpol agents. One with long, brown hair which was slightly hanging in his face. And the other one, a bit shorter, blonde guy with short hair. They had that feel around them that Cook couldn't shrug off. Something just wasn't right. Without thinking about it he said:

"What the fook are you on about mate?"

Sam didn't react and kept staring into the dark, star-lit Bristol sky. Dean scrutinized Cook, almost like he had forgotten all about him.

"Dude, you better get out of here, I think the feds will be all too glad to see you."

"Mate what are you _**talking**_ about?" he was getting back his sense. Slowly, yes. But still.

"You _**are**_ the feds, are you not?" Cook continued, putting on a very confused look on his face, like he _actually _didn't understand what was going on.

"Uuuuhm… look kid. Just pretend you never saw us and we never saw you, ok?" Dean said, fake-smiling at Cook.

"But… aren't you gunna arrest me?" But Cook didn't hear the sarcastic answer Dean gave him. He didn't contemplate on the thought that their accents sounded strange and they must be from the USA or something. He didn't elaborate in his head that they probably weren't Interpol at all.

All he could do was to stare past Sam and Dean, right on a spot where a woman appeared out of nothing. A woman wearing a nice, tailored it seemed, dark blue suit. One could barely see her in the street light, as her skin color made it even harder to point her out in that darkness. The long black hair, sending reflected light particles into the surrounding.

"What…. the…. "

Dean putting off his concerned look, turned around. Now all three of them were staring at this woman. Faces frozen.

"Hello again." Her voice was as cold as the wind dashing at their faces.


	5. Chapter 4: Old Friends Die Hard

**DISCLAIMER**_: I do not own the Skins or Supernatural characters, they belong to Jamie Britain/Eric Kripke respectively. _

_Enjoy this crossover and please R&R!_

v.

"Rafael!" Dean broke the silence. Sarcastically gesturing at the woman he continued:

"I gotta admit you look… well… hot!" adding a smile.

"Shut your pie-hole you hairless ape," the woman said slowly.

"Where is Cas?" Sam asked, mentally preparing for ways to stick that angelblade that was in his side pocket in her.

"Oh… you mean… this?" she answered. Slowly, mockingly with an evil grin at the end of the sentence. And as Rafael snapped with her fingers, out of thin air a body dropped right before the angel. It was a man, wearing a cream colored trenchcoat and looking pretty sharp. Only that his face looked like it melted off.

"No…" Sam said slowly. It was Castiel.

"You found the Arc of the Covenant?" he looked up from Castiels dead body, locking on Rafael with rage and determination.

"Oh yes. And my soldiers are already putting good use to it. Soon I will find the treacherous Balthazar and the weapons he stole from us and we will win this war." Rafael said, looking now at Dean.

"Not if I can help it!"

Sam rushed forward, ready to strike. Hurled ten feet in the air, he crushed into a near bush. Rafael standing there, one hand still raised in the air, as she threw Sam away, grabbed the approaching Dean at his throat and slowly lifted him in the air. Chocking, his feet dangling in free space, Dean struggled against Rafael's grip with hate in his eyes.

" I have been waiting to smite you… for _**so**_ long," Rafael said, looking Dean directly into his eyes.

Feeling the oxygen slowly escaping his body, Dean caught a glimpse of Cook, still frozen in both his posture and his face. But Cook wasn't looking at Rafael or Dean. Or Sam for that matter, who was lying unconscious in a bush. He was looking to the near right of them. As if he didn't see enough weird shit for today a man was standing right beside the woman with the nice, tailored suit. His skin was a bit dark, and he had short, dark hair. Nike sneakers, baggy jeans and a v-neck, which was a bit too large for his thin, long skater-body. He looked just like somebody Cook knew. Liked, no adored actually. Like somebody he once used to love more than Effy, spliffs or life. Hell, even more than himself.

"So have I," Freddie said and rammed the angelblade right into Rafael's back scull.


	6. Chapter 5: Hello

**DISCLAIMER**_: I do not own the Skins or Supernatural characters, they belong to Jamie Britain/Eric Kripke respectively. _

_Enjoy this crossover and please R&R!_

vi.

The slow, calming hum of the Impala resonated in Cooks ear. It took him a while but he got used to it by now. Turning right he pulled over the Chevy. Pausing for a moment he said:

"Hey. Wake up mate. Let's get some grub."

Grub. That word sounded strange coming out of a Britons mouth. Almost like an American would try to fake a Russian accent. Getting no reaction from his co-pilot, Cook gave him a friendly tap on the cheek.

"Wake up you sleepy wanker!"

The man's tired, bloodshot eyes slowly appeared under the dark eyelids. He looked annoyed, tired and miserable.

"Fuck off…" he mumbled, and opened the door, to let the warm summer-evening air of Goshen, Indiana hit his long brown hair. A sigh made its way out of his mouth and he said:

"Right… 'Grub'," not covering a yawn. Cook felt his stomach churn and exited the car. Locking it, he went over to the man and together they stood before the bar, watching. People inside were drinking, eating and playing pool.

"Looks like my kind of place! C'mon," he said, making his way to the entrance.

The man stood there for some seconds more, contemplating which one was bigger: his tiredness or his hunger. He decided to let his hunger win and followed Cook inside.

"Two chili-cheese bacon hamburgers and two beer please," Cook said adding a wink, addressed at the good-looking waitress. Smiling, she added more like a purr:

"Would you like fries with that?"

Cook simply nodded and grinned. The waitress, throwing a last look over her shoulder made her way to the kitchen to post the order.

"I'm so in her knickers tonight," Cook thought to himself. And he _was _good at picking up women. He learned from the best.

"Any word from them?" the man sitting opposite to Cook asked, trying to ignore the scene that just happened in front of him.

"Nah. They're busy enough upstairs, don't you think?" he answered.

"Still can't believe they died to help Castiel hunt down all the remaining Rafael-Loyalists. I mean… that's a whole new level of hunting. Even for them."

He looked awake now. The prospect of ingesting a chili-cheese bacon hamburger could do that.

"Right. Also: it's the only way to heaven. I mean, _**you'd**_ do the same for him right? After… you know, what he did for you?"

After a slight pause the man said: "Yeah… you're probably right."

"Hmm… how long has it been now… Ten years?" Cook added, his face all wrinkled. Thinking back to that awful night, when he became a hunter, a shiver ran over his body. He remembered it very clearly. Every little detail. Every word. Every gesture. He could even remember the smell of this one very special Bristol night. Back when he was just a criminal, who lost his best friend. Back when he thought that everything was over.

"Cook! Are you listening to me?" the man said, pulling Cook out of his blank stare, directed at some poster on the far side of the room.

"What?" Cook added, slightly irritated.

"I said," now in a low whisper, "the three Vampires just went out the back door, we need to hurry!"

Rising up from the table, they went to the closing door the monsters just left through.


	7. Chapter 6: BiteFight

**DISCLAIMER**_: I do not own the Skins or Supernatural characters, they belong to Jamie Britain/Eric Kripke respectively. _

_Enjoy this crossover and please R&R!_

vii.

_Slash, slash, slash_! **Clonk**. **Clonk**. **Clonk**. As Cook and his partner made it out of the restaurants' backdoor, they encountered something that drew a simultaneous "Wow" from their lips. Three headless bodies were lying in the side street, bleeding out slowly. In the centre of them was a dark shape. Stepping closer, Cook noticed that this shape had a really nice ass. It was completely dressed in black, even the face was covered. Only the eyes were exposed and under the tired, orange-glooming street light, shining into the alley, one could make out a blonde shock of hair. They approached the shape cautiously, gripping tight to their machetes. It did not move. A quiet dripping sound came from the two blood-stained Katanas that the shape was holding in each hand, as the red juice fell into the puddle of blood by the shapes' feet. It did not look at them. Cook was still rather focused on the two round halves, right at the center of the shape.

"_Don't come any closer!_"

It was definitely a women Cook thought now. Exchanging looks with his partner he halted.

"Nice job," the man with the dark hair and still empty stomach said. Putting his machete away, he made a step forward.

"_I said don't fucking move!_"

Her voice was dark. Demanding. So full of authority. Cook thought it was fucking hot. His partner stood there frozen in mid-position, sensing that authority. He thought that maybe she was dangerous after all.

"Who are you?" Cook asked, trying to sound as authoritarian as she did. He failed.

"_You first." _She was still not looking at them.

Talking to her back he said:

"Well, you can call me Cook, that's what most people –"

**Plack-plack**! The two Katanas fell to the ground and gave off a sharp sound that filled the side alley. Everything was quiet. Only the muted sound of music coming out of the bar could be heard.

Slowly the woman began to turn around. Cook couldn't see her eyes, because the street light was doing a really shitty job illuminating the alley. Standing in the shadow now facing the two hunters, she pulled down her mask, looking at them. After what seemed like an eternity of silence she simply said:

"…._Cook?..." _

Cook and his partner were shocked. Her voice was trembling. Cook, unsure of what to say looked at his partner who looked just as confused and clueless as he did.

"…_And you… you…" _ now addressing Cooks partner, her voice a mere hush.

"…_You both are…. supposed to be… dead…_"

Stepping out into the light, Cook and his partner now could see her face. She had beautiful eyes, which were sparkling because of her tears. Long, golden hair was falling into her face. She was slowly walking towards the two hunters, that were still standing frozen, jaws dropped in shock.

"…._Cook…..Freddie…." _ Naomi blurted out sobbing, as she rushed forward into a violent hug, falling down to the ground with the two friends.


End file.
